Splintered Counters
by Kit-Quicksand
Summary: She searched for the faces in her glass, she searched for relief, she searched for him. RenoxYuffie Oneshot.


Yuffie ponders for a moment.  
It could be possible that she is an alcoholic. After all she has become somewhat infatuated with the stuff lately. The bars of Wutai have become a second home to her, and the burning feel of liquor washing down her throat; almost second nature. She blames it on her political position, turns out being a princess did have its advantages every now and then, free alcohol just happened to be one of them. It seems like a good enough excuse, she is a thief by nature - free stuff held a special place in her heart. Plus she would seem ungrateful to her people if she didn't make use of this gift they gave her, right? Right.

It isn't true though, she knows that much but give it a couple more drinks and she is pretty sure she can convince herself otherwise.

"Hey, give me another one." She slurs to the man behind the bar, he eyes her cautiously.  
"With all due respect ma'am but I really think you have had eno-"  
"If you finish that sentence you will so regret it, I fucking saved the world; I think I can manage my alcohol. Thank you very much."

He looks nervous, debating which would be worse, dealing with a half drunk ninja or risking the responsibility of her condition if something were to happen to her in her intoxicated state. He doesn't debate long though; an accurately aimed shoe makes his decision clear.

Yuffie grins like a three year old when he complies with her order and hands her another drink.  
"See that wasn't so hard..." She whispers interrupting herself by practically shoving the new glass in her mouth and eagerly gulping down its contents.

The bar counter was splintered she notices as she lays her head down, splintered, weathered, and worn. The original coloring has long since faded no doubt on behalf of all the other would-be alcoholics that had seen a solution to all their stupid problems at the bottom the sea of liquor. How many people have drank out of the same glass she had, catching the same glimpse of relief that she had in the transparent walls of the said object. Seen but never caught, it had teased her, allowing her to get closer and closer to it until she could swear she could almost touch it, then disappearing- like a sickly unfair game of hide and seek, except it wasn't real and Yuffie doesn't have the time of day to count that long. She was determined though, coming back over and over again back to the smoky bar, back to the dingy glass until she had finally captured it. But she never had, and she had quickly lost the will to try. Now she just drinks out of habit, and because it is more entertaining than sitting pretty with her stupid father all day 'yes siring' and 'no siring' till her brain oozes out of her ears from boredom. She guesses she is going to have to get used to being polite more often, hell she is getting married in a week.

That thought sticks with her a moment, before being hastily washed away in another wave of liquor. No thinking she reminds herself, and she smiles as she saw the face in her glass again for a brief moment.

That face she has been looking for.

"Aren't you a little young to be in here, brat?" his voice is like sandpaper like she remembers, she doesn't lift her head.

"Fuck you, I'm old enough." She focuses all her attention on the glass.

"Still have a mouth on you, huh babe." He sits down next to her, she can feel him. She never takes her eyes off the glass; he doesn't take his eyes off her.

"You better believe it; you still have a knack for showing up where you're not invited."

"This is a public bar. There are no invitations."

"This is my damn country, Turk." Yuffie hisses, she notices she spit a little and secretly hopes some 'accidently' got on him, "and I am telling you, you aren't invited."

He laughs bitterly, she could feel the vibrations on her cheek, she wonders momentarily when the last time this counter has been cleaned.

"Well, I'm already here, wanted or not. So you might as well get used to it babe." She can feel his smirk in the air; she can see it in her glass.

"Why are you here?" she snarls, " I thought Wutai whores were too pricey for you."

"Don't flatter yourself princess; it's not that I couldn't afford your scrawny ass. I just wouldn't be getting my money's worth, now would I?." she grins against the counter top, he continues, "Business, babe, always business."

She sits up and finally glares at him, "I have a name you know, or have you forgotten it already". He looks the same, his red hair impossibly unkempt, his condescending smirk plastered on his face still. Wutai has changed, her father has changed, she has changed, and it was nice to see something that time hadn't touched.

"I think it started with an S... right?" He smirks, and she tries to look as pissed off as possible but can't stop the smile that breaks free.

"You're such a bastard." She says.

"So I've been told." He quickly orders a drink. "I hear you getting married Yuffs." His voice isn't as nauseatingly cocky as it was before, "Finally find someone who can put up with you?"

She stares at the glass again, "Hardly, It's one of those for-the-good-of-Wutai things. The guy is twice my age... but he is loaded." She pauses a bit. "I don't really have a choice."

No one speaks for a while, (except for the other occupants of the bar, who are whispering to themselves and casting glances over at her. She assumes they are trash talking the Turk, she wonders if he hears them.) she is too preoccupied picking at her nails and wondering why exactly she is having trouble smelling him- he usually smells like shaving cream and murder which actually disturbing nice, and he is fumbling badly trying to think of what to say.

"That's fucking bullshit," he finally settles on that.

She looks up at him, and is half expected to see him disappear in front of her in some cool dramatic bolt of electricity or something, perhaps she has had too much to drink after all. She shivers, and is beyond annoyed over how cold the stupid bar has become and blames the bartender, maybe negative a billion degrees is comfortable for him, but he isn't wearing a tank top and shorts, and he isn't the one paying the bills on this place (she choices to ignore the fact that she don't pay for anything in here). That insensitive prick.

"Hey Reno?"

"Yeah babe."

"Do your eyes glow in the dark?" she asks.

His expression reminds her of a kid poking a dead turtle with a stick – kind of morbid amusement.

"Like a night light," he says.

"…I think I knew that. Thinking back- actually I remember having a conversation about it." she frowns in concentration, trying to recall all the details. He snorts.

"You were bitching about how they were keeping you up at night, hardly a fucking conversation," he says.

"Yeah, that's right. Lit up the whole damn room," she smirks, looking at him out of the corner of her eye before taking another drink.

He laughs, "You're so full of shit."

"Maybe," they sit in an uncomfortable silence for a few more moments.

"Yuffs, what the hell are you doing in a bar anyway? I thought you would rather drop dead before putting that 'vile liver exploding shit' in your mouth again." His cocky tone is back, but there is maybe a slight hint of concern underneath all that arrogance.

"Because I can," she replies smugly, subconsciously jutting her jaw out slightly. She stares again at the glass. She can't look at him long.

"Because you can?" he raises the corner of his lips along with one of his eyebrows.

"Don't make me have to repeat myself." She replies sharply, probably a little too quickly. She is pretty sure he is going to persist further, he hates when she lies and a moron can tell there is more to the story then what she is letting on.

"No one orders that shit," he nods to her glass," just because they can. That ain't no kiddy drink babe, there is something eating at ya- something big."

She snorts, "Maybe I just like to live on the edge..." and sticks out her tongue. She isn't exactly sure what that will prove, maybe he will get aggravated at her immaturity and drop it. Maybe he will get angry and search for faces in his own drink and leave her to hers. Maybe he will relieve it's not worth it and walk out the door again; or maybe it will turn him on and she'll spend the rest of the night in some bloodstained hotel with him. She's not sure which of the said options she would prefer, but the one with the messy sex is looking pretty good right now. She thinks she might be drunk.

"Trust me princess, this _isn't_ the kind of edge you want." She shivers when he looks at her, blaming the cold.

"You have no clue what I want, turkey." she smiles to herself, placing her head back on the counter. He eyes her softly. Yuffie is preparing herself for some smart-ass perverted comment from him- something about how him and his sexy body were what she wanted (which would actually be kind of true… maybe), and is more than a little unnerved when it never comes. She raises her eyes to look at him, and finds he has turned his body to face her on the chair, and is studying her. She can feel his eyes practically look through her, and wonders if cool glowly mako eyes can actually do that. She is about to ask him, but he beats her to it.

"Yuffie, what happened to you?"

She thinks for a second- eyes widening, not about the question but why he asked it, and how it changes everything. She curses him mentally, terrible made up words that Cid would be proud of, for making her go through this, and almost wants him to apologize to the alcohol for making her remember feelings the booze worked so hard to make her forget; but she thinks that will make him question her sanity and won't solve anything anyway.

"…What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Silence.

She feels a wave of different emotions hit her as she sits up and turns her body to mirror his- awkward, and hurt, and incredibly pissed off. She tries to keep all of them in check, and frantically scans her glass, hoping it will save her. It doesn't however, and she feels him gently grab hold of her wrist and draw little figures on it with calloused fingers. She shudders again, and tries to remind herself it's not him; that it's just to fucking cold (she doesn't really believe it though). It's weird Yuffie thinks, that so little contact would have this much of an effect on her, but she remembers that it's Reno she's talking about- he can practically make a woman strip by just his smile. She wonders what would happen if he used that power for evil, and thinks he probably has.

"You don't want to know," she says.

He smiles, "humor me babe."

Yuffie is certain that she hates him at that moment. She hates him for complicating things, and ruining her brilliant plans to make the hurt go away, and for questioning her alcohol choice. She doesn't like how he is showing concern of all things, and is ticked off because it was so much easier to handle when she was convinced he didn't care.

"Fine, you really want to know? You happened, there happy Turkey?" she picks at her nails, tearing them until they bleed, "You came with you stupid fake hair, and retarded electrocuting dildo and messed with my brain. And then you just left, up and left! And all I got from it was some half assed promise that you would be back. So every night, I would go to the bar, cause I knew _if _you _were_ to come back, this is where you would be. And I waited, and waited and hoped you weren't didn't just _say_ you were coming back, but meant it. And every night lost a little more hope, and gained a new found respect for that shit" she nods her head towards her drink, and laughs at the wrong time.

Silence.

She looks back to the glass, and the splintered counter, and her bloody nails. "Don't laugh or anything… but it kind of reminds me of you. I guess that's why I started. I kind of expected you to fix all of this," she blushes, "I guess I just thought that when you came back, you would make Godo, and arranged marriages, and useless fancy balls just… I don't know, go away."

He lets go of her wrists, which is the exact opposite of what she wants him to do; she holds her breath and looks up at him timidly.

And he kisses her. Rough, and frantic, like sandpaper, like whiskey- burning her mouth and lips and teeth. She loves it, and hates it, and knows there is something wrong.

He breaks away from her and looks straight at her. "I can't save you," he says- breathes, "I wish I could, you know I do. But I can't Yuffie; honey I just can't."

He sounds scared and tired, and she is not used to this kind of Reno. "Why not?"

"You know why," he says.

And she feels her heartbreak.

He kisses her again; it's gentle and sweet and un-Renoish. They take their time because they know this is the last kiss they will get, and they pour everything that wasn't said into it, and she feels tears coming out despite herself and she knows she is getting his face wet but he doesn't seem to mind. It lasts for eternity, until she almost forgets what it's like not to be in this position with him. He pulls back, again- for the last time- and smiles sadly at her before walking out of the bar.

She is drained and scared and her glass is empty. She lays her head back on the counter, and tries her hardest not to think about what just happened, and how she didn't even say goodbye, how he didn't even let her- she is not sure whether to thank him for that or not. She will have to come to terms with sooner or later. Later, she decides and figures she isn't drunk enough to deal with it now. Yuffie closes her eyes, as hard as she possibly can, and tries her best to fall asleep.

She doesn't notice the bartender speaking with a man in a uniform on the other side of the bar.

"I've been sent by Lord Godo to escort Lady Kisaragi home," the soldier says, he is young- too young to be in the military the bartender thinks but he doesn't question it further.

"She is over there," he nods to the slumped over figure, "she's had a lot tonight."

The solder looks nervous, "Um… was she, was she talking to herself?" he asks, unsure if that is a stupid question or not. The bartender nods.

"Yes and no." he says, "To us she is talking to herself, but she is convinced that there is someone there."

The soldier looks at the girl wearingly, "who? I mean, who does she think she is talking to?"

"I can't be certain, but I've heard her mention Reno a couple of times. She has been doing this for the past two weeks."

"Reno? You mean _the_ Reno… from the Turks?" the young man's eyes grow when the bartender nods, "but didn't he die not long ago?"

"Yeah," he says. "Apparently some kind of mission gone wrong, or so I heard. She came here that night and has been doing that since."

Neither of them speak, or notice the temperature in the bar rising and the faces in her drink disappear.


End file.
